


here there be dragons

by envysparkler



Series: Pavor [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Enemy to Caretaker, Gen, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27081307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: There’s only one person Damian trusts to protect him from the League of Assassins.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: Pavor [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932523
Comments: 86
Kudos: 1313





	here there be dragons

**Author's Note:**

> My brain has apparently decided that the best way to deal with my problems is to wrap the batfam in all the hugs.

Damian kept the scowl on his face as he darted into the mirror funhouse. Something did not feel right about this mission – Crane had escaped Arkham, but there was far too few screams for one of his plots, and Crane didn’t usually hang out around Amusement Mile.

Everything was dark. Near silent, aside from the check-ins as the rest of them fanned out to cover the carnival. No henchmen, no traps, no sign of their escaped prisoner.

Something was wrong. The mirrors reflected him, over and over and over again, and each version had a different sneer on its face.

Damian stopped where he was, sword out, faint traces of instinct stilling his movements. Quiet. Too quiet. Crane was never this quiet.

The shadows were moving.

Crane was never this quiet, but the League _was_.

“Damian,” Grandfather said, stepping out of a patch of darkness, green eyes gleaming bright.

A trick. A trap. Had Crane even left Arkham, or was the whole thing designed to bring them running into a location of Grandfather’s choosing?

“Grandfather,” Damian said levelly, keeping his sword out. More assassins oozed out of the shadows. Damian kept himself still. _Show no fear_ was a lesson he’d learned the hard way.

Fear meant weakness. Fear meant _prey_. And Robin could not afford to be prey.

“You are a disappointment,” Ra’s al Ghul said softly. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to yell. Why would he? He was the Demon’s Head, and his tone did not matter when his words could slice into bone.

“I am no longer a member of the League of Shadows,” Damian said flatly, “My training does not concern you.”

“It did, when you were my heir,” Grandfather said coldly, “But you are _weak_ now. This city has made you weak. _Batman_ has made you weak.”

“Father is a better warrior than you,” Damian retorted.

Grandfather had a small, lipless smile on his face. “Family and sentiment,” he said, and the ice in his words sent a chill down his spine. “But it doesn’t matter. You are no longer useful to me.” He raised his hand.

The assassins advanced.

Damian could not see his mother. He didn’t know whether her absence was by choice or not. He wasn’t sure which option he preferred.

He tightened his grip on his sword and watched the figures move to surround him. Twenty. No – thirty. He could defeat them. He was the heir to the Bat, no matter what Grandfather said. He was stronger, smarter, _better._

He wasn’t weak. And he was going to prove it.

Steel clashed against steel and Damian spun around attacks and slashed out, bodies dropping as he moved like a whirlwind. He was the superior fighter. Thirty assassins was _nothing_.

Damian had knocked out at least ten people. And yet the room was filling with more and more shadows, stretching to the ceiling, stretching _across_ the ceiling, black oozing from all the mirrors around him and pooling in the edges of Grandfather’s smirk.

“Tt. You need to fifty assassins to kill me? You mock your own claims, Grandfather.”

“Kill you?” Ra’s al Ghul blinked, surprised. “Oh, Damian, I’m not planning to _kill_ you.”

Dread. Cold, icy, choking dread dropping into his stomach like an anchor. Fear skittering down his veins. His heartbeat kicking up a register as his vision went blurry.

“Drake,” Damian called out, his voice wavering.

Grandfather _smiled_.

No. Damian wasn’t –

He couldn’t –

His limbs felt like they were moving through molasses, slow and sticky and horrifying.

Most members of his family could go toe-to-toe with Ra’s al Ghul. He did not doubt them. However, only one member could actually _outsmart_ the Demon’s Head.

He needed Timothy Drake.

“He will not come and save you,” Grandfather laughed, “He understands the importance of cutting out dead weight.”

No. He would come. He had to come.

“Drake!” Damian shouted. Where was he? Why wasn’t he here?

There were so many of them. Standing, silent and still. Watching. Waiting.

His movements became slower. His body was too heavy. His limbs uncoordinated. His throat dry. His vision blurred in and out.

“He’s not your brother, Damian,” Grandfather said cuttingly, “And he is a better heir than you ever were.”

“Drake,” Damian said, his mouth tripping over the words, “Drake. _Drake_.”

Was that him? Standing at the edge of the circle? Standing at Grandfather’s side, face blank, eyes cutting, looking at Damian with disgust? Standing in front of him, a knife in his hand, a cruel smile on his face?

“ _Drake_!” Damian screamed.

The knife slid in between his ribs. It hurt. It hurt so much. The burning edge of the blade hurt less than the icy shock of betrayal.

“Drake,” Damian whispered. No. Only one person could stop Ra’s al Ghul and he was here, _twisting the knife_ –

“Dami, I’m here.” Arms enveloping him, firm and tight, squeezing his face against a kevlar weave. “Damian, it’s okay.”

“He’s going to hand you over to me,” Grandfather hissed sibilantly, “He’s going to pry your worthless fingers from his cape and drop you at my feet.”

“Dami, I’m here. You’re fine. It’s okay.” A heartbeat under his cheek, fast but not too fast.

“Ra’s,” Damian choked out, and someone swore quietly and vehemently.

“Worthless,” Grandfather snarled, “Pathetic. A sniveling child too scared to face the world. Your mother should’ve drowned you at birth.”

“Damian, I’m here.” Something pressed against his nose and mouth, the hard edge of plastic biting into his cheek. “I’m right here. I will never let Ra’s get his hands on you, I _swear_.”

A pinprick of pain high on his arm. Damian ignored it and clutched the suit fabric even tighter, turning so that his face was entirely concealed. So that he didn’t need to see how badly they were outnumbered. How badly they were outmatched.

Drake was here. He would have a plan. He always had a plan.

“– can’t give him more antidote –”

“– back to the Cave –”

“– sleep it off –”

“I’m here, Dami,” Drake said softly, and his arms tightened around Damian, “You’re safe.”

Damian believed him.

* * *

He woke up to a throbbing headache, and even the meager lighting in the Cave made him hiss and squeeze his eyes shut. Strangely, he wasn’t cold, though the Cave usually felt freezing – warmth and weight was settled around him, cocooning him in softness.

It was pleasant. Stays in the Cave medbay were not usually pleasant.

Damian cracked his eyes open again, and was met with a sympathetic-looking Grayson. Damian scowled automatically. “What happened?” he asked. He remembered Grandfather. Assassins. Crane.

Grayson did not have any visible injuries.

“You got hit with fear toxin,” Grayson said softly, “You were breathing it in for nearly five minutes.”

But Crane hadn’t been – he hadn’t felt – he hadn’t – he –

“Grandfather?” Damian swallowed.

“No Ra’s,” Grayson answered, and Damian could see the understanding in his eyes – whatever Damian had been saying, they’d all heard him. “No League. Just Scarecrow.”

He’d screamed for Drake. The League had never been there, and yet he’d screamed for _Drake_.

Damian ducked further into the warmth, intent on getting away from Grayson’s quietly compassionate gaze – until the warmth groaned quietly and moved.

Damian twisted in the hold – because it _was_ a hold, Damian could recognize it now, there were arms wrapped around him and a leg slung over his knees – and hissed when he was confronted with Drake’s closed eyes.

“Shh, Dami,” Drake mumbled, “You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”

Of all the indignities he’d been forced to endure –

“Drake,” Damian hissed, “Unhand me this _second_.” He pulled out a knife – with some maneuvering, because Drake still hadn’t let go – and brandished it in his captor’s face. “Drake!”

Drake opened his eyes, blinked blearily at the knife two inches away from his right eyeball, and sighed. “Too early for this,” he muttered, and curled tighter around Damian.

“Drake!” Damian screeched – he was not bluffing, he would _not_ hesitate to –

A hand enveloped his and easily twisted the knife out of his grip. “No threatening family with live weaponry, brat,” Todd grinned, the colossal hypocrite. Damian bared his teeth at him. Todd’s grin stretched even wider, before he frowned, “Wait, didn’t we take all your knives before we put you to bed?”

Drake, even half-asleep, scoffed. “At this point, it’s no longer worth my sanity to question it,” Grayson laughed.

“Jason?” Drake mumbled sleepily. Despite his apparent lack of alertness, his arms were a vice grip and Damian’s wriggling was not changing that.

“Yeah, Timbo?”

“Coffee?” Drake asked pleadingly.

“Sorry, baby bird, you know the rules. No stimulants for twenty-four hours after toxin exposure.”

Drake subsided into a _pout_ , it was extremely unbecoming. If Drake desired his precious coffee so badly, he could let Damian go and go get it himself. Damian tried to inch down the bed, and briefly entertained the thought of biting, as childish as it was.

Wait a minute.

“You got hit with fear toxin as well?” Damian asked, turning back to scowl at Drake.

“Yup,” Todd said, “Not a whole lot, but he inhaled some after he gave his rebreather to you.”

After he _what_ –

“You utter _imbecile_.” How had Damian ever thought that Drake was cunning enough to outsmart Grandfather? “What was the point in crippling _both_ of us? What if Crane had come back? What if you started attacking me? What if –”

“It was a calculated risk,” Drake said mildly. His eyes were still closed. “The others were coming. You were still breathing in fear toxin, and your symptoms were getting worse.”

The self-sacrificial idiot.

“You are a _disgrace_ to this family,” Damian hissed, twisting in Drake’s hold and elbowing him in the ribs twice as he squirmed to find a comfortable position. Finally, he settled – tucking his head under Drake’s chin with his heartbeat thrumming in Damian’s ear. It provided a soothing contrast to his pounding headache.

“The only way Ra’s gets to you is over my dead body,” Drake said softly, steel in his tone.

_I know_ , Damian didn’t say. _I trust you_ , Damian didn’t say. He made a soft tutting sound, and curled his fingers into Drake’s shirt.

Drake hummed and adjusted his grip, bracketing Damian with his limbs. It should’ve felt stifling. But it only felt safe.

* * *

“I need to frame this.”

“Whip it out whenever they start fighting again.”

“Ooh, how about this angle?”

“My phone’s running out of storage space.”

“You should’ve bought a better phone.”

“You need to print out some of these before Replacement wakes up and deletes everything. And make copies. Multiple copies.”

“And send it to _everyone_.”

“I’m getting the permanent marker.”

“ _Boys_.”


End file.
